


Overcoming Writer's Block: A Guide by Tsukishima Kei

by volleydorkscentral



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Blindfolds, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Not Beta Read, Writer! AU Tsukki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26481436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volleydorkscentral/pseuds/volleydorkscentral
Summary: Tsukishima Kei is a novelist, struggling to start his next book after finishing a long series he'd been working on for years. Writing erotica novels was a fun past time for him, usually, but recently he'd been plagued with writer's block. Luckily, his long-time lover, Kuroo, has some kinky thoughts that can help the matter, including some hands-on experimentation.** Written for the Luna & Noir Fest 2020 **
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 9
Kudos: 112
Collections: Luna & Noir: KuroTsuki Fest 2020





	Overcoming Writer's Block: A Guide by Tsukishima Kei

**Author's Note:**

> Luna & Noir Fest prompt number 50!

Tsukishima pressed his fingers to his eyes, groaning as he realized that the sun was peeking its way above the horizon, streaks of light pushing through the city streets. His head was starting to hurt—or maybe it had been hurting all night and he’d only just now noticed; his eyes felt double their normal size and dry as the Sahara to boot. He’d been up all night writing—staring at that confounded blinking cursor, really—again. 

He’d been a novelist for years, and one of the bookshelves that lined the walls of his office was stuffed full of the novels—some of them in multiple languages—that he was proud of. He’d written several series and loved them all… but the ones he didn’t display were his favorites. They were packed in the smaller bookshelf in his bedroom, closer to the bed, and he wished that his name was on them, that he was brave enough to show them off the same way he did his other novels. Instead, they labored under a false name because when he’d first started writing them, he’d been ashamed of the romantic—erotic—nature of them. They got rave reviews in the circles they were popular in, and he was secretly more proud of them than the rest of all his other novels combined.

He wrote them when he was frustrated because the plots were usually straightforward, and most people didn’t read them for the plot, anyway. Plus, the research he did for them was nice. _Research_ was one word for it, at least.

Behind him, he heard the bedroom door open and the socked-feet padding of footsteps as they came closer, then warm arms wrapped around his shoulders. Kuroo yawned against his neck before nuzzling in. “Were you awake all night?”

Tsukishima rubbed his eyes with his fingers and dropped his glasses onto the desk. “Trying to finish this ending so I can send it off.”

“I thought you’d finished it last week?”

“Writing, yes. Just doing some minor editing.”

Kuroo hummed against his skin, his weight leaning a little more on Tsukishima’s shoulders. “You’re a perfectionist. Just send it to your editor. That’s their job.”

Tsukishima sighed, leaning back with a yawn.

“I’m going to get ready for work,” Kuroo told him, kissing his cheek. “Do you want some breakfast?”

“I’m alright.”

Kuroo leaned forward and turned off the monitor, kissing his cheek. “Go get ready for bed, I’ll cook.”

Tsukishima watched him go with a smile before he retreated to the bedroom to change into pajamas. He’d been on a weird sleep schedule lately, and Kuroo had been keeping him fed and making sure he’d slept. By the time he made it to the kitchen, Kuroo was sitting at the bar with two plates ready. As they ate Tsukishima told him how he’d finished the series he’d worked on for four years, and tried to keep in mind any questions Kuroo had—wanting to make sure he answered them in the book.

Before he left for the day, Kuroo asked, “So, if you’re done with that book are you going to work on one of your other books?”

Usually, Tsukishima would write one of his regular fiction books, then one of his adult novels, back and forth so he could keep both his names in a steady light. “I think so. I’m not sure what I’ll write next, though.”

“I can help you brainstorm.” Kuroo was the only one—other than his publisher—that knew about his adult novels. He found one of the early drafts of Tsukishima’s works and been extremely interested in why the most recent scene was so similar to some of their post-date sexual trysts. After a lot of embarrassed blustering, Tsukishima finally admitted that, yes, he’d used their—admittedly, wonderful—sex as inspiration for his books. Instead of being offended as he’d feared, Kuroo had been elated and giddy; excitedly asking if they could explore other fun things that Tsukishima could write about. He wanted to help Tsukishima experience as many things firsthand for his books that he could.

“You just want to try the next kinky thing on your sex list.”

“I do, yeah.” Kuroo winked at him.

Tsukishima laughed. “We’ll talk about it tonight. Have a good day; I love you,” he said, kissing Kuroo before he left for work. Then he crawled into bed, his eyes burning, and tried to clear his head to start fresh in a few hours.

* * *

In the evening, when Kuroo came home, Tsukishima had dinner ready for them to eat as soon as he got home. Since he worked from home—most days, anyway—he liked to cook when he could. While they ate Tsukishima told him that he’d sent his manuscript off earlier that day to his first readers—a few friends—and would wait for their comments before he sent it to his publicist’s editor.

“Are you going to take a break?” Kuroo asked.

“No. You can’t—not really. Writing is a habit as much as it is a discipline. If I stop, it’s very likely that I’ll stop _wanting_ to, and I can’t have that.” He leaned his head on his hand, frowning at his empty plate. “Only problem is I’m not sure what I’ll write next.”

“One of your other books, right?”

“Well, yes. That I know. But I finished the trilogy I was working on so I need to start a whole new project. I’m not sure what it’ll be.”

They were quiet while Tsukishima went through his mental list of ideas—all half-heartedly formed in his head. Some were better than others, but even the good ones didn’t have any actual plot or any fleshed-out characters. Kuroo let him think while he picked up their dishes and did a quick clean of the kitchen before coming back to rub his hands over Tsukishima’s shoulders. “Could do a short story compilation?”

He laughed, which dissolved into a soft moan as Kuroo found a sensitive spot. “Ohh— You just want to do lots of things on your list.”

He could feel Kuroo chuckle. “It’s not an actual list, you know.”

“Really? I have one.”

“You do? Can I see it?”

Tsukishima shrugged. “If you want. But that doesn’t solve my current predicament.” He stood, waving Kuroo’s hand away as he stretched his shoulders. “I need to pick a character, I guess. Figure out what sort of theme I can write about. I don’t know.”

“Do you have some ideas?”

“Yeah, in my notebook.” He moved to his desk, digging through a drawer and pulling out a fat notebook that he kept his ideas and random scribbles in. He flipped through a few pages until he found a chart he’d written down about some characters he’d had a basic idea for. Most of them were basic, as they all started out, but once he picked one he could figure them out, background, and personality, and motivations. He was always so indecisive when he first started any project—he had to get to know the characters and make them real in his head before he could make any sort of compelling narrative. “Here, see? I’ve got maybe six that I had ideas for.”

Kuroo leaned his chin on Tsukishima’s shoulders, reading down the list and humming a little in thought then kissing Tsukishima’s shoulder. “I don’t know anything about this part. I just know how to help with the research bit. Where’s that list? Let me see it.”

Tsukishima flipped to it, showing him the extensive, several pages spread he’d written about what they’d done, what they wouldn’t do because one or the other didn’t like that particular kink, and what they _could_ do.

“Damn,” Kuroo muttered. “You didn’t like the spanking? I thought you did.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes. Beside it, he’d written: _mixed results._ He pointed that out and said, “Some of it I liked. Some of it I didn’t.”

Kuroo raised his eyebrows. “Which part did you like?”

“I liked doing it to you.” He laughed when Kuroo made a face—he hadn’t enjoyed being on the receiving end of that particular experiment. “And I liked your hands on me—and there at the end, y’know. Being all sensitive and stuff. But I didn’t like the pain.” It had been several years ago, one of the first experiments they’d done for Tsukishima’s ‘research’ and he was surprised that Kuroo seemed to have forgotten. They’d done a lot of things since then, though, and Tsukishima was the one that thought back on it often for his writing, whereas Kuroo was always looking to the next thing they could do.

The first had been a simple experiment, but it had fun results. By the end of it, Tsukishima’s ass and the backs of his thighs had been so overstimulated that even the smallest, feather-light touches would send him over the edge. Kuroo had taken full advantage of that with kisses and gentle scrapes of his nails—and Tsukishima remembered having to press his face into the mattress to stop the loud, lewd noises coming from his throat.

Kuroo grinned at him and turned back to the list. “Well, here at the bottom—what of these look interesting?” He took the notebook and a pen (if he wrote in Tsukishima’s notebook, he was going to be a little upset; Kuroo knew he didn’t like people writing in his notebooks—sometimes he didn’t even like writing in them himself) to the couch, sitting down and skimming the list. “Can we redo some things?”

“Sure,” Tsukishima said after a moment of thought. “As long as it’s in a different setting, I guess. Variety and all that.”

Humming, Kuroo tapped his finger on the notebook. He was reading the rest of Tsukishima’s notes on their past dalliances. They’d experimented with lots of things, included bondage and voyeurism; making their own porn; sensory deprivation; mirror sex; one excruciating evening where Kuroo wanted to try edging… so of course it was Tsukishima who had to endure a plug up his ass while Kuroo teased him and kissed him until he was a writhing mess and only once he’d almost allowed Tsukishima to come three times did he drag him to the bedroom and fuck him until he was boneless and weeping with how good it felt to finally come; experimenting with food; wax play; and one weekend they spent apart while Kuroo was away at a seminar for his pharmaceutical job where all they did was send sexy texts, photos, and double entendres back and forth until Kuroo came home and they ravaged each other.

“I’ve got an idea,” Kuroo said. His mischievous grin was sliding onto his face—it was one that Tsukishima had never seen except when he was planning something dirty. Usually, that smile was either a bad thing… or a very, very _good_ thing.

“Oh?” Already Tsukishima’s skin was tingling with anticipation. The hold this man had over him—damn, but it was powerful.

Kuroo hummed, reading through the list again, skimming the pages. “Can I borrow this?” When Tsukishima hesitated he said, “Don’t worry, just for a bit. I won’t mess it up. It’ll be worth it.”

If he said it would be, Tsukishima knew it would be well worth the anxiety of missing his sexcapades notebook for a few days. So he nodded slowly, already feeling the prickling tickle of desire warming his belly. Kuroo stood, moving around the couch and coming to slide his hand up Tsukishima’s chest and around to cup the back of his neck and pull him in for a kiss that only stoked those fires and made them burn hotter. When Tsukishima reached for him, pressing his fingers to Kuroo’s hips to pull him closer, Kuroo chuckled and stepped away from him.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice amused. He swiped a thumb across his lip where Tsukishima had bitten him.

“Why not?” He was absolutely _not_ already breathless with desire.

Kuroo’s smile widened and he waved the notebook. “I have to plan.”

* * *

Two weeks of nothing—and it was driving Tsukishima crazy. Two weeks where the only time Kuroo touched him was a chaste kiss goodbye when he left for work or some gentle, side-by-side cuddling on the couch in the evenings after dinner. No sex. No goofy teenage mahout sessions. No steamy foreplay in the shower when they both knew they didn’t have time but did it anyway.

He was in hell.

Pure. Agonizing. Blue balls hell. He hadn’t felt so pent up since he was sixteen. Anytime he had tried to jump Kuroo when he was least expecting it Kuroo would allow him a few moments—building his desire even more—then gently push him away and tell him to be patient.

Tsukishima thought he was patient.

Turns out, he wasn’t.

So when Kuroo came and sat unbearably close to him on the couch one evening after dinner, Tsukishima’s skin prickled and tingled with how close he was, each place they touched felt warmer. “So, I bet you’re wondering what my plans are,” Kuroo said, smiling one of his coy, beautiful, fucking frustrating smirks.

“No,” Tsukishima said, too quick.

Kuroo’s grin widened. “I’ve had to order some things, make arrangements, find lodgings.”

“What, are you going on vacation?”

“No,” Kuroo laughed, “but I’m done now. We can finally put my plan into action. And your job is very simple.”

“Mhm-hmm. What is it?”

“Don’t make that face at me.” He poked Tsukishima in the nose, which made him laugh, and Tsukishima jerk away, feigning aggravation. “You just have to do a little pretending.”

“I’m not five.”

“I’ll do it, too, don’t worry. I had the fun idea that we could… do a little role play.”

Tsukishima raised his eyebrows. That was on their _to-do_ list. “Color me intrigued, I suppose.”

“So— Have you seen that idea where couples try to do that thing where they pretend it’s their first date?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, really? Well—that’s what we’ll do. Pretend we don’t know each other.” He leaned closer, eyebrows raising. He smelled like the cologne Tsukishima bought him for his birthday last year. It was tantalizing. Tsukishima wanted to bite him.

“How does that work? I thought this was for my erotica novels.” He had a hard time focusing on Kuroo’s face when his mind was thinking about every other body part under his clothes.

“It is. We’ll have a date. And I’ll have to convince you to come with me and sleep with me.”

 _That won’t be very hard_ , he thought. “That sounds silly.”

“Let’s just try it. I have put a lot of work into this.” Kuroo was smiling and ran a finger over Tsukishima’s throat. Tsukishima’s pulse jumped in its wake.

He swallowed, trying to collect his thoughts. Goddamn Kuroo. Everything about their relationship had taught Tsukishima that if he wanted sex he could _usually_ get it, barring special circumstances, so Kuroo’s embargo on all forms of touch was making him lose his mind. “Alright. What do I have to do?”

“Nothing,” Kuroo said happily. “You don’t have to do anything but play along. I’ll do everything else. You just go about your day and I’ll find you.”

“You’re going to stalk me?”

“No.”

“It sounds like you’re going to stalk me.”

He rolled his eyes, grinning. “I know on the third Thursday of each month you have a meeting with your publisher, and you’re usually stressed after them so you go to that cafe down the street. There’s a bookstore a few blocks down that you’ll go to sometimes, too.”

Tsukishima hadn’t realized he’d become so predictable. “Still sounds like—” He laughed when Kuroo scoffed dramatically.

“Look, like I said, don’t _worry_ about any of that. I’ve got it all under control.”

“Do we need to talk about any of the sexual components of your plan?”

Kuroo grinned. “Nope.”

“You’re sure?”

“Not unless you changed your mind on any of the talks we’ve had about it all before. I know what you don’t like, and the things you hate, and the things you’ll tolerate with a healthy margin of error. Plus, you still have your safe word that trumps everything, no matter what we’re doing.”

 _He really has been studying,_ Tsukishima thought, watching Kuroo as his smile spread in a knowing, all-encompassing way. He could read Tsukishima like a book by now, after so many years. “Alright,” he said at last. “I trust you. When are you going to implement this plan?”

“Tomorrow.”

Thursday, of course. “Okay, tomorrow.”

Kuroo leaned forward, slipping an arm around his shoulders and brushing their lips together in a kiss that was less about kissing and more about teasing. Just as Kuroo began to pull away, Tsukishima grabbed two handfuls of his hair and held him close, swiping his tongue across Kuroo’s lips. He made a ravenous sound deep in his chest, sucking on Tsukishima’s lip, tugging with his teeth, breath mingling, his hands everywhere—

Then he pulled himself away, his eyes dark with lust, mouth red, cheeks flushed. “Tomorrow,” he said.

Tsukishima grimaced, slouching into the couch. “I’m going to make you regret not touching me for two weeks.”

Kuroo only smirked at him, then casually asked if he wanted to get dessert or finish the show they’d been watching.

* * *

When Tsukishima woke up in the morning, Kuroo was already gone, the only sign that he’d ever been there was the rumpled sheets on the other side of the bed and Tsukishima’s tingling skin where he was sure Kuroo had pressed up against him in the night. He’s warm all over from his dream—something soft and supple, edges pink, fingers trailing, mouth close behind—and he ached something fierce deep in his core, lower and lower until his body curled with it. The desire. It had been a long time since he felt like this—waking up like a teenager with a hard-on and only himself to fix it.

He sighed, feeling somehow dirty but unable to help it as he slipped his hands down, one under his shirt and the other between his legs. His dream was close in his consciousness. He could still feel Kuroo’s hands on him, his mouth, and traced those memories onto his skin with his own fingers. If he closed his eyes and dropped himself in his mind where Kuroo always lingered, it was easy to pretend…

He gasped, nails against his skin—gently, gently—heat bubbling under his skin—turning his face into Kuroo’s pillow to catch the lingering traces of his scent—toes curling as he chased the tingling, bursting wave until, with a shiver and a moan, he came all over his hand.

It was not satisfying.

He grimaced and flopped back, reaching for the tissues beside the bed and feeling even more turned on than he had before, but everything was just a little closer to the surface and over sensitive.

Dragging himself out of bed, he took a quick shower and changed the bedsheets, scarfing down a quick breakfast before hurrying out to the monthly meeting with his publisher. It was mostly a _let’s stay on the same page_ meeting, discussing where he was in his writing process, the editor’s notes, changes, artwork, any number of things that had to happen before a book was published. It was an agonizing meeting for Tsukishima because he had to explain that he was a little behind schedule editing the last of his series because his early readers had asked him questions about parts of the plot that he’d completely forgotten about and now he had to work in several extra scenes—which meant cutting some others, and he was struggling to find what to get rid of. The exasperation of the entire meeting left a sour taste in his mouth and a twisting, sick feeling in his stomach.

They kept giving him deadlines, which he marked on his calendar but didn’t think he could actually meet. As Douglas Adams had said, “I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.” Sometimes the writing process was helped by deadlines, but sometimes he just had to ignore them and let the feel of his works dictate how and when he wrote them.

Without even thinking about it he stopped at the exact café he always did and got a small table in the corner to enjoy is strawberry cake and coffee to get the bitter frustration off his tongue. He ate while flipping through his social feeds, catching up on the mindless chatter he’d missed out on. Most of it he read passively, not absorbing it even though he saw it, just background noise as he tried to figure out what he was going to do about his novel.

When he was through, he began to head to the grocery store but paused when he passed the bookstore on the street, suddenly remembering—having forgotten in his stress—Kuroo’s plans. He had mentioned the bookstore, and Tsukishima wondered if he should go in, or if that was a part of the plan… then decided that he would, and hoped that it played properly into Kuroo’s plans. The manager nodded at him as he entered—they knew each other well, not only because Tsukishima had been a near-constant visitor for years even before he was an author, but now that he was he spent plenty of time there browsing for new things to read for inspiration. Tsukishima inched around the fiction section, checking if any of his favorite authors had any new books out, smiled when he saw that his section had two books missing—bought today, maybe?—and wandered over to the adult section to look at that series, too. It was a lot smaller, and he noticed immediately that there was a new book from a different author. He flipped through it, skimming, and wasn’t impressed at what he saw. It read like a boring instruction manual. His own pen-name sat on the shelf, and the warmth in his chest when he realized that a copy of the first book he’d published was missing from this shelf, too, spread to make him a little puddle inside. He hoped that whoever had it was enjoying it.

There were two copies of that first book, and he slid the other out from its place gingerly. It felt so old. He felt like a different person than the one that had put this out. He _was_ a different person. So much had changed—and, yet, so much was still the same. He still wanted to create, still wanted to push out the nebulous, all-consuming thoughts that devoured his imagination onto paper. Sometimes he didn’t really believe that anyone else read his words—and, what’s more, enjoyed them!—and that this was all some big cosmic joke… but then he found volumes missing from the shelf, and that made it all worth it.

Still, when he was here he liked to leave little gifts for his readers, so he pulled a pen from his pocket and carefully signed his name across the inside title page, blowing gently on it to make sure it dried properly.

Something caught his eye and he turned, a little startled, to see Kuroo standing just far enough away to be polite. He was dressed in the tight jeans that hugged his legs and made Tsukishima thirst for him like water on a hot summer day. He had on the t-shirt that Tsukishima always ran his fingers over because it was so soft… and also because Kuroo looked so good in it. He’d grown up since he’d bought that shirt, his muscles filling out the empty spaces, straining the shoulders, and the slightly frayed edges of the short sleeves hugged— _barely contained_ —the strong curve of his biceps. Kuroo looked at him, the little smug smirk on his face meant he knew exactly how Tsukishima’s brain had just short-circuited.

Slight tilt to the head. _Are we doing this?_

Tiny raise of the eyebrows back. _I already said yes—waiting on you._

They’d learned to read each other’s minute expressions long ago, a survival tactic when they both had conferences to attend and meetings to sit through, waiting for the event to end so they could leave together. Kuroo’s smile widened. He shifted so he could lean closer—if he had been a stranger it would have been too close. He was anything but.

“You know,” Kuroo said—and his voice wasn’t _quite_ his sultry bedroom voice, but it was close; it was the voice that had made Tsukishima _really_ look at him all those years ago, realize that Kuroo wasn’t just being friendly, but actually wanted him, “you shouldn’t write in books before you own them.” The words weren’t sexy, but he was. His face was—that mischievous tilt to his mouth that Tsukishima always wanted to suck on.

“Helps if you wrote them,” he replied easily.

Kuroo pretended to look surprised and he purred, “Oh, how devious. You wrote all these?” He gestured with the book in his hand to the others on the shelf and Tsukishima realized that the single missing volume was in his hand. _That sneak_ , he thought, but was a little—a lot—pleased.

“The same name’s on all of them. Are your deductive reasoning skills that poor?”

Kuroo’s lip twitched, eyes narrowing a little. He apparently hadn’t anticipated Tsukishima rising to the game of his little role-playing. It made heat simmer in Tsukishima’s belly. They weren’t even talking about anything sexy. This was absolutely the silliest thing they’d ever done—but they were doing it, and so far it was working.

“You’re a good writer.”

“Thank you,” Tsukishima smiled at him as if he was any other fan. Usually, fans asked him how to become an author, or if he had any tips, and he’d gotten to a point where he would head off the questions with the ready piece of advice he knew and believed in: “It’s a craft one must hone and practice every day. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

“Practice makes practice.”

Kuroo’s eyes narrowed just slightly, lips curling up. He was so handsome, his eyes always mesmerizing but especially now when he was looking at Tsukishima like he wanted to _eat him_.

With a smirk, he studied the volume in his hand and thumbed through it, stopping at a scene near the end that Tsukishima recognized because of its position in the book. He wasn’t sure if he hated it or loved it. It was right near the end, the _climax_ of the novel, as it were, and it was the longest sex scene in any book he’d written. It was before Tsukishima had learned to edit himself. It was also the first one that he’d written using Kuroo as inspiration, and Kuroo knew it. “This scene… was it imagination or experience?”

Tsukishima shrugged, waving a hand noncommittally even though he felt electric. “The writing process is one of conglomeration. Write what you know, and what you don’t know drown in research.”

“Yeah? I’d like to think you had plenty of practice. It certainly reads like you’re either experienced or imaginative.”

Tsukishima allowed himself a smile. “Perhaps both.”

Kuroo inched closer so that Tsukishima could feel the heat of his skin and smell the exotic, woody scent of the cologne he wore. “I’ve heard that writers take their inspiration from all sorts of places.” When Tsukishima only hummed, ambivalent to his words, he continued, “Your research—is it ever hands-on?” The way he said _hands-on_ in such a casual, sexy way, all round and wide and suggestive, was delicious.

“Any writer worth their salt will do whatever it takes to learn everything about their craft,” Tsukishima replied, torn between being honest because he wanted Kuroo to have to _really_ work for it or between saying _‘Why, do you want to find out how I research sex scenes?’_ because he really wanted Kuroo’s mouth on him. Like. Right now. He had a distinct, visceral memory of Kuroo’s mouth, of the way he tasted, the way his skin felt between his teeth, and the moan he’d let out when Tsukishima took him in his mouth right when he was close to the edge. But… this was a game.

And, recently, Tsukishima had finally admitted to himself just how competitive he was, and Kuroo had encouraged him with games of Monopoly and Mario Kart while they got steadily drunker on wine or whiskey or whatever liquor they’d bought that week.

“Sign it for me,” Kuroo said suddenly, thrusting the book at him. “Put your number in it, too.” He smiled that perfect, handsome smile that Tsukishima loved so much.

“No.” He didn’t have to force the chuckle that bubbled out of him at the quick flash of stunned frustration that crossed Kuroo’s face. He raised his eyebrows at him as if to say, _You opened this can of worms_. Kuroo was the one that wanted them to pretend to not know each other. Maybe he’d forgotten just how long it had taken for them to finally go on a date all those years ago. It had been months of back and forth, constant flirting, occasionally dirty, suggestive texts before Tsukishima had finally caved and agreed to go on an actual date with him, not just hanging out with a group of their friends. It had taken so long that the first few times they’d had sex it had been…

Ravenous was one word that came to mind. Insatiable, another. Satiating. Lewd in the best way. It felt like it lasted hours, and Tsukishima remembered feeling weak at the knees for days afterward.

If Kuroo thought five minutes of half-hearted flirting would get Tsukishima to give it up, he was both full of himself and absolutely wrong.

 _Game on_ , his smile said, then aloud, “I will sign it for you, though, as long as you buy it.”

“I’ve already read it.”

“Good for you.”

Kuroo made a face at that, a flash of annoyance that made Tsukishima allow himself a mental point. “Alright. Sign it. I’ll buy another copy. Just for you.”

He took the book and flipped it open, but before he could write anything Kuroo said, “Please.”

Tsukishima looked up, startled with how close Kuroo suddenly was. He backed Tsukishima against the shelf behind him, not quite caging him with his arms but definitely with his sheer presence. It reminded Tsukishima of the time they’d played each other in volleyball, how Kuroo’s presence on the other side of the court seemed to eclipse all others. It took everything in him to keep a straight face.

“Please,” he whispered it this time, his breath ghosting over Tsukishima’s cheeks. The cool gray of his eyes was fierce, burning into Tsukishima. “Sign my book. Let me take you out tonight. I’d love to help you research your next book.”

And _that_ particular voice—the deep, provocative cadence; those words—said simply, forward, confident. That is what made Tsukishima give him a chance all those years ago, and why he loved to tease Kuroo with suggestive, subtle, _maybe yes maybe no_ back and forths until he was so fed up with Tsukishima’s teasing that he took charge and told him exactly what was in store, what he was planning, and how exactly he was going to take Tsukishima apart this time—detailed and specific and said so low and soft directly into his ear while Kuroo held him down and palmed him through his pants until Tsukishima was an embarrassing mess of a puddle on whatever surface they happened to be on at the time.

Tsukishima swallowed. He saw Kuroo’s eyes follow the motion of his tongue wetting his lips, trying to find the right words. Okay—point to Kuroo. He won this round. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to actually sign the book or not, didn’t know how far this bit went, but Kuroo pushed the book into his hands.

“My name’s Tetsurou. I’d like your number, too.”

So Tsukishima signed the book— _To my dear fan, Tetsurou. I hope you enjoy this book, thank you for your continued support,_ and, after a slightly confused pause, _Kei_ —then he put his actual phone number even though they’d had each other’s names programmed in their phones since high school.

Kuroo’s smile widened as he took the book and blew gently on the ink, never taking his eyes away from Tsukishima’s. “It’s nice to meet you, Kei. I’ll call you.”

All Tsukishima could manage was a lame, “Okay,” before Kuroo turned and walked away, his ass looking just as amazing as Tsukishima remembered.

* * *

The club that Kuroo invited him to for their date was dark and anonymous. Loud music. Low lights and colorful strobes that made vivid, momentary paintings of the bodies packed tight on the dance floor. Tsukishima hated it. Mostly hated it, anyway. The pounding of the bass echoed in his teeth and made his heart jump—it was supposed to encourage dancing, but it only annoyed him. He wasn’t entirely sure why Kuroo would have chosen this place, knowing Tsukishima’s adamant dislike of loud, dark, crowded places, and had a mind to text him and ask.

Earlier, Kuroo had texted him from an unknown number which Tsukishima thought was both over the top and also wholly within Kuroo’s dedication. Had he bought a burner phone just for tonight? It made him laugh just thinking about it.

Tsukishima sat at the bar against the far wall, tucked into the corner, and trying to avoid the gaze of most of the patrons that were decked out with slinky clothes and neon. Kuroo had told him to _dress sexy_ but he’d not known what to expect, and, while he was dressed in what he knew Kuroo found sexy on him, he felt wildly overdressed for what this place was. Most wore tops that showed off the most amount of skin without being naked, low slung pants or short skirts, see-through fabrics or glittering, suggestive cuts of cloth. Tsukishima didn’t own anything like that—other than the lingerie they’d tried out—so he’d opted for the almost-too-small button-up shirt and pants that he knew made his legs looks longer than they were because Kuroo commented on them every time he wore them. He looked _fine_. He knew Kuroo would like it, at least.

He sipped the drink he’d bought while he waited. Even though it was on ice the alcohol burned as it wound its way to his belly. Maybe the alcohol was a bad idea, or maybe it was a great idea, he really had no clue just yet. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he was nervous about this date-not-date. _Not sure why_ , he thought as he took another drink. _We are married, after all. It’s not like this can go badly_. And it couldn’t, not really. They knew each other—their likes, dislikes, preferences, and limits—enough to know how to make anything pleasurable and fun. Still, his stomach was tight with anxiety, his chest fluttery and a little chaotic, his breath didn’t feel like it went as far as it usually did.

Taking out his phone—checking the time, wondering if he shouldn’t have come so early—he opened a fresh note and began writing out exactly how he felt. Each detail that he could put a name to, knowing he could make it more fantastical or figurative later. This was a writing exercise, after all. If his character—whoever they might become—ended up doing the same things they did tonight, Tsukishima wanted an easy reference back to the feelings without his cloud of emotions overlaying them from memory. He took time typing up each emotional and physical sensation he was feeling—quivering nerves; bubble of excitement; the desire to get drunk to quell the worry that he’d mess this up; the pocket of heat deep in his belly, anticipation for the adventures to come, the promise of carnal satisfaction; tiny pricks of sweat on the back of his neck. It was hot in the club. Cold of the glass in his hand. The sound and feel of the music, practically a physical thing, against his body. Smell of bodies, cologne and perfume, sweat and soap and skin, all close, close, close—but halfway through typing something different made the back of his neck prickle. Someone was watching him.

Turning, he found Kuroo beside him. Tsukishima clicked his tongue in irritation, annoyed at himself for being snuck up on. Kuroo saw it, grinned, and said, “How many drinks have you had?”

“Just the one.” He laid his phone down and studied Kuroo, surprised, and pleased at the choice of clothing. It was something he’d never worn, and Tsukishima liked to think of Kuroo wandering shops trying to find the right clothes that would make his mouth water. The visible curve of his hip and slope of his chest certainly did that—milky bits of skin that Tsukishima loved to bite. He could see the very edges of the tattoo Kuroo had gotten along his thigh and up to his hip in university—a molecular layout of the chemicals that released in the brain when someone fell in love: serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine—peeking up in colorful strands, promising more just under the hem of his pants. “You’re late,” Tsukishima told him once he’d gained control of his tongue again.

Kuroo smiled, sliding into the chair beside him. “You’re early.”

 _I’m always early, you know that_ , Tsukishima wanted to say.

“You look handsome.”

“As do you.”

Smile widening, Kuroo dipped his head in acknowledgment, his eyes glittering with amusement. He really was full of himself when a plan he’d thought of came to fruition, Tsukishima thought fondly. It was both annoying and very sexy. He ordered a drink for himself then scooted his chair closer to Tsukishima’s, hooking his arm across the back so he could slide his fingers over Tsukishima’s shoulder. He had to lean close to be heard as the music changed and seemed to get louder, his lips practically touching Tsukishima’s ear. “I’ve been thinking about you all evening.”

Tsukishima only sipped his drink, keeping his face still even though very specific parts of him were getting excited by the attention.

“You wouldn’t be so stoic if you knew what I had planned once I get you alone.”

He cut his eyes over to Kuroo’s—their faces so close all he would have to do is tilt his head for them to kiss. “What makes you think I’ll go anywhere with you?” Which was a lie—they both knew it. Tsukishima would go absolutely anywhere with any version of Kuroo, but Kuroo had started this game and now he had to follow the rules.

When Kuroo laughed, it was warm and soft against Tsukishima’s shoulder. “We would make a beautiful scene for your next book.”

Tsukishima shrugged with his head since Kuroo had pressed his lips to his shoulder. _We already have_.

“That’s how it is, then?” He moved his hand, curling his fingers across the back of Tsukishima’s neck. His lips touched Tsukishima’s ear. “What can I do to convince you?”

“That’s for you to figure out,” Tsukishima said, more confident than he felt. He knew that Kuroo, too, was acting brazen and cool—but he could feel the little tense twitches of his arm and see the tightness around his eyes that said he was just as nervous.

For the next three hours, they talked. After only a few minutes it was clear that maybe Tsukishima had messed up—maybe he’d misunderstood the rules of the game. Kuroo wasn’t only trying to be a stranger, but a brand new person. He made up a job, a hobby, a history, turning himself into an ardent fanboy of Tsukishima’s works. He gushed in vivid, lascivious detail about his favorite scenes, his fingers trailing over the places that he knew Tsukishima liked—grazing the back of his neck, the insides of his wrists, their knees touching across the ever-diminishing space between them. They drank slowly but did not get drunk. Kuroo ordered snacks for them, and then made suggestive jokes about the shape of them. Tsukishima, for his part, told the stories of his past ‘evenings of research.’ Even though, or maybe because, it was Kuroo who was a part of them, it made him squirm and a little flush creep across his cheeks and chest in a way that Tsukishima knew meant he was aroused.

By the end of it—before it ever started, honestly—Tsukishima moved closer, hand on Kuroo’s thigh, fingers splayed, mouth touching the soft part of his neck before he whispered in his ear, “How about we get out of here?”

* * *

The moment the door of Kuroo’s room closed he grabbed Tsukishima by the collar of his shirt and pressed him against the wall. Kuroo’s hands found his hips and yanked him close as they kissed. It was hurried—desperate, almost. They hadn’t properly kissed in what felt like forever, so this was like a wave crashing against a rocky shore.

Kuroo swore softly as Tsukishima’s hands found his hair and pulled his head back, using his mouth to create trails along Kuroo’s jaw and down his throat. His hands pushed up under Tsukishima’s shirt, fingers grasping for leverage, nails scraping gently in a way that made Tsukishima shiver. His leg pushed between Tsukishima’s as his hands pulled their bodies against each other. “Off,” he said between breaths, yanking at Tsukishima’s shirt. “All of it. Off, off.”

They staggered to the bed, dropping clothes like breadcrumbs as they went, flurry of motion, and quick, gasping instructions. When they fell back on the mattress, though, Kuroo paused—his slow, careful removal of Tsukishima’s glasses a sweet and tender contrast to the hurried rush. It seemed to slow them down, and when next Kuroo kissed him it was like he was testing the waters. He held himself over Tsukishima, careful of knees and elbows, trying not to crush him—but Tsukishima wanted skin, wanted to feel him, so he slid his fingers over Kuroo’s sides and guided him down until they were pressed together. Kuroo arched into him and Tsukishima moaned, greedy and grateful at the contact.

“I want to play a game with you,” Kuroo said, brushing his lips across Tsukishima’s cheek down to his jaw.

Tsukishima grimaced, tilting his head back to allow Kuroo space to pepper his throat with kisses. His fingers dappled over Kuroo’s sides, tracing his ribs. “No,” he murmured. “No more of this game—I just want you, Tetsu.” He gasped when Kuroo’s teeth grazed over his skin.

“Okay,” Kuroo replied; his smile could be felt against Tsukishima’s skin. “But I want to play a different game with you.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I promise that you do.”

“I hate you,” Tsukishima said listlessly, sighing as Kuroo slithered lower, leaving a path of kisses and love bites along his chest, trailing his tongue over the curve of Tsukishima’s rib that made him twist and writhe. His hands curled in Kuroo’s hair, wanting to keep him still, move his mouth to the most sensitive places, but Kuroo gently and firmly pulled himself away, nipping Tsukishima’s finger as he went.

“Stay there.”

Tsukishima grumbled, dropping his head back on the sheets and running a hand absently down his stomach. Kuroo moved away from the bed and rummaged through a drawer before he came back, one hand behind his back.

“Move back. Get comfortable,” he said, gesturing to the bed. After Tsukishima complied he moved over to sit in front of him. “Close your eyes.”

“I”m not sure I like where this is going,” Tsukishima said, but he couldn’t stop the little smile he felt on his lips.

“You will.” Kuroo smirked at him, sliding a knuckle over Tsukishima’s cheek. “Now, do it. Close your eyes.”

After a last look at Kuroo’s face—that perfect, smirking, stupid face that he loved—Tsukishima let his eyes slide closed. The softness of Kuroo’s fingers found his face, thumb stroking over his lips and caressing the hair at his temples. The heat of skin was close, fan of his breath over his mouth. Tsukishima could feel Kuroo’s mouth just on the other side of his finger—the suggestion of a kiss.

His skin simmered.

Then a cloth was slipped over his eyes, and Kuroo’s fingers tied something around the back of his head.

“What’s that?”

“I thought you were smarter than that, dear Kei.”

He scoffed, reaching up to touch it and found a soft, wide cloth across his eyes.

“Don’t take it off.” Kuroo moved off the bed, and Tsukishima could hear him moving around the room, opening drawers and zippers and pulling out various things before returning. Tsukishima waited, expectant. Normally he had absolutely no problems being patient. He wasn’t one who squirmed or jittered with impatience. But his breath came a little faster each time Kuroo shifted and it took every ounce of willpower to not pull the blindfold off and demand to be ravished.

“Well?” He said instead. “I’m getting bored.”

“So this game,” Kuroo replied, and Tsukishima could hear the grin in his voice, “is very simple. You just have to guess what I’m using on you. If you’re right you get to decide whether I keep going or move on; if you’re wrong, I decide.”

Humming, Tsukishima settled back to wait, hoping that Kuroo would be impatient, too. Then he felt something on his arm, so softly it was hard for him to recognize immediately what it was. Kuroo’s fingers barely brushed his skin; it was enough to draw gooseflesh up his arms and make him shiver. Kuroo’s fingers dappled over his chest, brushed his stomach so that Tsukishima had to control himself to not arch up to feel more of his touch.

Kuroo’s voice was low and warm when he asked, “Care to guess?” His hands ghosted over the inside of Tsukishima’s thighs, making all the remaining blood in his brain travel down below his belly.

He breathed out slowly. “Your lovely, magic fingers.”

Kuroo chuckled, caressing the underside of his knee with nimble fingertips. “Correct.” A pause, his thumb sliding over the sensitive muscle. “Your decision?”

“More,” he whispered.

Kuroo’s hands gripped his knees and pull them apart with enough force to make Tsukishima gasp aloud. Now that Tsukishima had gotten the question right Kuroo wasn’t being airy and gentle—his grip was firm, pressing his fingerprints into Tsukishima’s thighs, spreading heat and pressure along the muscle but never touching him right where he wanted it most. Kuroo moved closer, slotting his knees under Tsukishima’s legs, spreading a hand up his belly to his chest. Tsukishima arched up now, sighing out a soft groan at the contact of Kuroo’s fingers on his nipple, nail just grazing to make him even more sensitive.

“That one was easy,” Kuroo said, his nails scratching lightly as he pulled away.

“No,” Tsukishima gasped. “Don’t—”

“There’s more.” His body shifted, leaning over. “This is just an… extra. A bonus for guessing correctly.”

Tsukishima took a deep breath, settling down into the sheets, letting his head fall back. “Easy guess, but okay.”

The next thing that touched him was cool and thick—a gel, maybe. It was textured with tiny beads that Kuroo rubbed into his skin. It smelled good, too. Like strawberries and cream. Whipped cream. A callback to the food play they’d messed with once, to the detriment of their couch cushions but a wonderful evening none the less. Kuroo’s fingers were strong, smoothing the gel over his collarbone then trailing down, leaving coolness where they went. It felt like he was smearing the gel into the sensitive places along his body: his nipples, the curve of his ribs, the skin just under his belly button, his hips… between his legs. Kuroo brushed it along the bend of his hip, pressed it deep into the inside of his leg.

Then, slowly, so slowly that Tsukishima almost didn’t notice it, each of these places began to warm. Not from the inside, but the outside. The gel was warming up. It was maddening. Kuroo’s fingers didn’t stop, massaging his legs slowly, moving up to each place he’d put the gel so it began practically burning.

“Fuck,” he said softly.

“Not yet.”

Tsukishima could only groan in response. He could feel Kuroo lean over, and let out a soft, cool breath over his chest that made Tsukishima twitch and his toes curl. His tongue followed, licking a stripe across his nipple that made Tsukishima swear softy. He sucked, teeth scraping, his tongue swirling and wet and it made Tsukishima groan louder, rising up, his hands clutching at Kuroo’s hair to hold him there. “W-Wait, don’t go—” he tried to say but stopped with a sharp gasp as Kuroo sank his teeth in.

“Round two,” Kuroo said, sitting up. “This one might be a little…” He didn’t finish, but something else cold made its way across his chest.

“Ah, shit.” Tsukishima shivered at the ice-cold temperature. He tried to pull away, but Kuroo held him down.

Kuroo chuckled. “Yeah?” His mouth sounded full, and when next Tsukishima felt the ice on his throat, it was in the form of Kuroo’s lips. He’d sucked the ice into his mouth so his tongue and lips were cold—a bright contrast to how warm Tsukishima’s skin was. Kuroo kissed his way down, tracing the path of the gel he’d made, making new paths with his mouth. His fingers traced patterns up Tsukishima’s sides, sliding under his body to hold him up. His voice was still muffled by the ice cube as he said, “Any guesses?”

Tsukishima felt each place they touched and pushed into them, wanting to be closer. “Ice cube.”

Another breathy chuckle. “Wrong.”

Indignant, “What?” as he tried to sit up, but Kuroo squeezed his sides and nuzzled his way against Tsukishima’s throat.

Kuroo deposited the cold thing—apparently not an ice cube—into the hollow at the base of Tsukishima’s throat so he could use his tongue and teeth to make little marks along his shoulder. The thing sat and chilled him, but it didn’t melt. “So that means,” Kuroo whispered against his skin, “that I get to choose this time.”

Tsukishima breathed out slowly, writhing as much as Kuroo allowed him to. “What the hell is it?”

Kuroo said, “You’re allowed to keep guessing.” He sat up, and Tsukishima gasped as Kuroo placed another of the not-ice-cubes on his belly. Kuroo moved it around slowly, following the curve of his ribs and around each of his nipples. “Stop squirming.”

“I-I’m not,” Tsukishima muttered. He grit his teeth as Kuroo held the ice over his nipple. So cold. Numbing. He moved it over to the other side as he leaned down to breathe warm breath over the cold areas so that Tsukishima’s body twitched with sensation and he groaned loud, his hands fisting in the bedsheets underneath him.

Kuroo only hummed and laughed softly, letting the ice slide down his chest to his belly and settle into his belly button. “Do you want to guess again?” He had another one in his fingers now, gliding it against the underside of his knee and up toward his body. This one he trailed over his hip and left it at the crease, then he had another in his hand and did the other side of Tsukishima’s body, up the same leg and deposited it on his hip so he had matching stripes of cold.

“’s so cold…” Tsukishima moaned softly, under his breath.

Kuroo touched another to Tsukishima’s lips, brushing it over them until he opened his mouth to touch his tongue to it. It wasn’t ice—it didn’t taste good, either.

“What is that?”

Kuroo pulled it away, trailing his fingers over his skin to pluck each tiny ice cube off him before speaking. “Silicone cube filled with frozen water.”

Tsukishima made an aggravated noise. “That’s _ice_.”

“You said an ice cube, so technically you’re wrong.”

“You’re such a bitch—ah!” He yelped when Kuroo leaned down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the place where the first ice cube had sat at his throat. The change in temperature was sudden—like throwing snow into a fire, his skin popping and bursting. His mouth moved up, sucking love marks up his throat until he could tug Tsukishima’s ear between his teeth. His body pressed against Tsukishima’s, rocking them together—groin on groin—so they both moaned—Kuroo right into Tsukishima’s ear. The cold of Tsukishima’s skin was already a fleeting thing, warmed as he was by Kuroo’s body over his. “Kiss me,” he said, desperate, dragging his hands up Kuroo’s back.

Kuroo did, all in a rush of tongue and teeth. It was messy and hurried, and Tsukishima’s sole focus shifted to every place he can touch. The taste of him, familiar and tinged with sweet alcohol. The feel of his skin, hot all over, pressing into his hands, their cocks trapped together between their bellies, all the memories of every kiss they’d shared, building each on the last until they could bring each other to desperate, messy puddles with just kisses. Tsukishima was already a mess, pent up from weeks without any form of touch, so it didn’t take much, but Kuroo was there to give him what he needed and more.

But then he pulled away, leaving Tsukishima’s mouth wet from kisses, pleasantly stinging from Kuroo tugging and sucking on his lips. He was breathless when he said, “Round three.”

Tsukishima leaned back against the pillows, clawing his hands down Kuroo’s back as he sat up. “Can’t we just—”

“No,” Kuroo cut him off. “I promised you something interesting and I’m giving it to you.”

What followed was definitely something Tsukishima would consider interesting. Kuroo had a lot of fun as the evening went on and the objects he used became harder and harder to guess, but he used each of them with precision and well enough that Tsukishima quickly gave in, letting himself moan and writhe, trying to get more contact with Kuroo’s skin. Kuroo used a multitude of things—some Tsukishima could guess: a feather, tickled lightly over his belly and balls; a large comb poked gently to the underside of his feet and in increments up the back of his legs; one of their stainless steel sex toys warmed in hot water;suction cups that he moved around Tsukishima’s chest. All of these things were used to make him shivery and writhing on the bed, his skin so overly sensitive that every little thing that touched him was magnified a thousandfold. The blindfold made everything feel surreal—his mind was showing him how he thought Kuroo looked: naked, flushed with arousal, his eyes dark as they raked over Tsukishima’s body and everything he was doing to it; his nimble fingers; sweat sliding down his throat; the way he would lick or bite his lips when he was deciding on what to do next.

And once Tsukishima’s skin was over-sensitive and each nerve alive with too many sensations and he was hard and leaking onto his stomach Kuroo reached down between his legs, sliding the pads of his fingers over Tsukishima’s entrance, making him shudder and press his knees to the side. “Tetsu…”

Kuroo’s other hand stroked up and down his side, nails dragging. “Mhm?”

“Let’s be done with the game.”

“Yeah?” He rocked his hips so that Tsukishima could feel his cock along the crease of his ass.

“Yes. I want you,” he said, a little hoarse. “I want to see you.”

“Keep your eyes closed for a sec.” Kuroo’s hands moved up, gently touching his hair to keep him aware of his hands as he pulled the blindfold off. He touched the backs of his hands to Tsukishima’s eyes. “The lights are off,” he said, his voice more gentle than before, “but open them slowly. You’ve been in the dark for a while.”

Tsukishima nodded, reaching up and taking his hands, kissing his wrist. In tiny increments he opened his eyes, letting them adjust to the dim light of the room until he could see Kuroo smiling down at him. “Hey.”

Kuroo leaned down to brush his nose along Tsukishima’s. “You’re a wreck.” He pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth, then trailed his lips up to kiss the sweat-soaked line of his temple. “So,” his voice dropped to that deep, soft pitch that Tsukishima loved so much, said right into his ear to make it even more unbearably sexy, “do you want me to fuck you into the mattress, or would you like me to climb on top and ride you until you cry?”

Tsukishima didn’t care about the way Kuroo was smirking at him. He pressed his hips up, fingers scrabbling at Kuroo’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “Either.”

“Think you can stand it while I work you open?”

“I already—” Tsukishima gasped. “At home. Before the date.”

“Not enough,” Kuroo said, grinning. “Besides, you know how much I like to do it.” He must have had a bottle of lube handy because when next his fingers pressed against Tsukishima’s ass they were so slick they pressed in easily—making him arch and groan with how much _more_ he needed. Kuroo had always had magic fingers, and he knew exactly how to pull and twist them to have Tsukishima writhing on the bed and, combined with the way he worked his mouth over the most sensitive parts of Tsukishima’s throat, had him practically coming in just a few minutes. When his fingers pulled away Tsukishima made a frustrated, unsatisfied noise and bucked his hips up, but Kuroo was only grabbing his knee and pushing his leg up, sliding his body closer so he could join their bodies.

Throwing his head back, Tsukishima let out a breath of pleasure and relief— _finally_. He shifted so he could wrap one leg around Kuroo’s hips to pull him closer, even as Kuroo hoisted his knee over his shoulder and hooked his fingers into his thigh. His thrusts were slow—tortuously so—and the little sighs and sounds of pleasure he made echoed Tsukishima’s. He reached up, fingers grabbing, until Kuroo twisted their fingers together and pressed him into the bed, rising up on his knees and shoving Tsukishima’s hips up to get a better angle until Tsukishima choked on his tongue.

Tsukishima gave as good as he got, using the leverage of his legs to move with him, a single entity of pleasure. The weeks of waiting and all the games were worth it, Tsukishima thought. Everything felt enhanced: each movement, every place they touched, each little groan that Kuroo breathed into his calf and the feel of his teeth as he scraped them across the sensitive skin of Tsukishima’s thigh. “Kiss me,” he gasped out, fingers scrabbling for Kuroo’s shoulder and sliding over to grip a handful of his hair, nails scraping over his scalp.

Kuroo obliged, even though it bent Tsukishima double. It was messy, hot with their breaths, but it was perfect, causing something that Tsukishima had been chasing since he’d stumbled from his dreams that night flare up: heat and sparks licking through his belly, a wildfire burning brighter and hotter each time Kuroo moved.

Where before their movements had been calculated to provoke a slow rise of pleasure, now they were simply moving together, knowing exactly how to make the other feel good, having been together long enough that it was instinct and muscle memory. Kuroo knocked his leg down to hold his hips and so he could lay his body against Tsukishima’s.

Tsukishima wrapped his arms around Kuroo’s shoulders, burying his face in his neck and letting his voice out. He knew he’d be embarrassed tomorrow, but Kuroo was whispering against his ear, “Yes, Kei, yes, yes. You— _ah!_ —so good. You’re so— _Kei_ ,” so it was all worth it to hear Kuroo tongue-tied as he rocked into him. He was in that place where everything was light, and he was floating, and the only thing keeping him grounded was Kuroo’s mouth. He was tense all over, something coiling tight deep in his belly, stroked by Kuroo’s insistent movements: his hands, gripping almost bruise-tight; his mouth, all over, wet and hot; his cock, so familiar; and the way he focused on fucking into Tsukishima, an intensity he reserved for little else—even his job, even volleyball, back in the day. His eyes had closed, tiny beads of sweat clung to his hairline, mouth hanging open and forming Tsukishima’s name over and over again: _Kei, Kei, Kei._

Hands grappled, Tsukishima surged forward, clinging to Kuroo as his body jerked, sudden and sharp. Kuroo felt it and moaned so deep it was like a growl, one of his hands leaving Tsukishima’s hip to stroke his cock, just hard enough that Tsukishima bit down on Kuroo’s shoulder in retaliation, but unable to stop his moans from being punched out of him as his orgasm hit him like lightning—sudden and overwhelming in its strength. Kuroo didn’t stop moving—if anything his movements became more frenzied.

“Tetsu—” he was shaking, falling apart, clinging with body and soul—

“Fuck—” Kuroo was saying in a hushed, reverent whisper. “Fuck, fuck, stay with me—”

Tsukishima was already trembling, and with each thrust, his body moved closer to the point of _too much_. He’d always had a very small window after orgasm for pleasure before his body began to rebel and slide into pain. He whimpered with the intensity of Kuroo’s movements, nails scraping along his shoulders.

Then Kuroo was clutching at him, his body stuttering. There it was—the tiny crease between his eyebrows and the soft, almost pitiful little groan that fell from his lips each time he came. Tsukishima wanted to kiss him, taste the sound, suck it from his tongue, but he was already to far gone.

After, they lay slumped each one another, sweat-slick skin sticking together. Mouths lazily coming together. Hands brushing over sensitive bits of skin that made the other tremble and shiver.

“Hey,” Kuroo whispered, “does that mean you lost our game?”

Tsukishima pulled away enough that he could bump their foreheads together only a little harder than necessary. “Shut the fuck up,” he said, pretending to be irritated. He could care less about the game. “You’re sweaty.”

Kuroo’s smile quirked up half of his mouth. “More than sweat, baby.”

“Gross.” He pressed a kiss to a bite mark he’d left on Kuroo’s shoulder before pushing him away. “Let’s go shower.”

“Clean you up so we can get dirty again?”

Tsukishima put his hands on Kuroo’s face and shoved him away as he rolled out from under him. The water in their shower was warm and eased everything left in his body. They spent a long, luxurious time cleaning one another and then soaking in a deep bath—a jacuzzi, actually, Tsukishima was very impressed—the water steaming and soothing. As they were dressing—Kuroo had thoughtfully brought them both a clean change of clothes from home—Tsukishima said, “Why don’t we just go home?”

Looking over his shoulder. “I paid for the room tonight, though.”

“And it’s nice—” glancing around at the room for the first time: faux brick walls and polished wood panels; leather couch; television tucked into a space in the wall; it was very simple, and yet the bathroom had been adorned with marble—fake, probably, but it looked good—and soft lights with large mirrors, including the shower space with two faucets _and_ a separate jacuzzi tub— “but it seems a little…”

Kuroo made a face at him. “This is a nice room.”

“Yeah, it would be, if the bed was clean.”

A smirk. “That’s not the hotel’s fault, Kei.”

Tsukishima smacked his arm, making him drop an armful of toys and towels. Eyeing them, he noted, “You brought a lot of stuff.”

“I wasn’t sure what exactly we’d be doing,” Kuroo said, picking everything up and carefully arranging the toys into a small suitcase he’d brought. “I wanted to be prepared.”

“I’d say you did well.” He leaned over, seeing all the things Kuroo hadn’t used, and even though he was still wrung out from the intense sex they’d just had, something quivered inside him seeing the toys and wondering exactly what Kuroo had had planned—his mind danced around those thoughts and away, teasing and aloof.

“So,” Kuroo’s voice interrupted the tantalizing images in Tsukishima’s head, “were you inspired?”

“Hm?”

Kuroo smirked at him, standing and resting his hands on his hips as he looked over Tsukishima leaning a hip on the arm of the couch. “Your book. That was the whole point of this.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Oh!” In all honestly, he’d forgotten completely. It was a little hard to think properly when Kuroo was naked in front of him. He pulled his phone out, navigating back to the note he had started. “I have a few ideas,” he said. “Especially once I get blood back to my brain.”

Snickering, Kuroo nodded as he zipped the bag closed. He pulled at the bedsheets and considered them. “We could just ask for new sheets.”

“Do you really want to stay here? It’s a short trip home. We could probably walk there. Don’t you want to wake up in your own bed tomorrow? Your own coffee?”

“You’ll bring me coffee in bed?” Kuroo reached over, curling his fingers over Tsukishima’s nape and leaning down to kiss him.

“No,” Tsukishima replied, turning his face away so Kuroo kissed the side of his mouth and then his jaw. “You’ll spill it. Here, I have an idea—” He reached up and gripped Kuroo’s jaw to make him stop moving, and slowly, carefully kissed him, a small brush of lips that he knew Kuroo hated because he wanted more.

He said in his most sultry voice, “Let’s finish cleaning up and go home. Walk or catch a taxi.” Pulled Kuroo down further so he could kiss him again, tracing his lip with his tongue so that Kuroo whined against his hold on his jaw. “Maybe by the time we’re home we’ll be ready to go again, and this time I’ll climb on top and make _you_ wear a blindfold.”

Kuroo’s eyes snapped to his, crinkled with his smile. “Yeah?”

“Mhm-hmm.” Another kiss, longer this time, to spark the kindling of desire within them both. “Want to go home now?”

Kuroo was already grabbing up the bag, eyes casting around for anything he might have missed. “Let’s go.”

Tsukishima smirked as they let themselves out. It might be late, he thought, but their night was just beginning; he’d soon have plenty of new ideas for his next book.


End file.
